


baby teeth

by OnyxSphinx



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27981255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Gideon takes it upon herself to make Harrow face up to her emotions.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	baby teeth

Gideon creeps through the corridors, feeling her way around with the toes of her boots and the tips of her gloved hands—it’d be a fucking rookie mistake to not wear them; the walls are coated in poison down here. 

It’s also why she’s got three weapons on her—two daggers strapped to each hip and a shiv hidden up her sleeve. You never know when one of the creepy Ninth house servants will jump you. Or worse, one of the aunts. Gideon shudders at the thought of dealing with their blankly staring, wizened skulls, and the scent of ammonia and arsenic that they seem to exude in waves. 

Trying to push the thought from her mind, she taps the walls; rewarded, after a few moments, with a hollow sound. She smiles.  _ Score _ . 

With on hand on one of the daggers, she pushes the tile in; the mechanism behind it groaning as it goes; and then finally, it slides open.

There’s a moment of silence, and then the shrieking of bones assembling themselves into constructs and lunging at her. With a deft hand, she repels them. “Harrow,” she calls, “I know you’re in there, you creepy little nunlet.”

“Go away,” comes a high, slightly-trembling voice; and Gideon shoves past the fallen constructs into the room. It’s large, with high, austere ceilings, and, in House Ninth tradition, is all in black. Harrow, also in black, her cloak large and trailing on the ground, stands huddled in the corner, surrounded by a dozen constructs. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” she asks; and raises another construct, throwing it at Gideon.

Gideon ducks it. “Your aim is terrible,” she says, bluntly. “And you’re not supposed to be forming constructs, you’re supposed to be grieving.”

Suddenly, like a snake, Harrow moves; her tiny form leaping across the room, and her constructs coming with her; and then there’s a pair of jaws filled with hooked teeth at Gideon’s throat. “There’s no grieving,” Harrow hisses, “because they are not dead.”

“They did die, though,” Gideon points out, sensibly. “I mean, just because you turned them into creepy zombies doesn’t mean you can’t grieve them.”

“There’s nothing to be grieved,” Harrow repeats.

“Hmm. Or maybe you just don’t know how to,” Gideon speculates. “I mean, are we even sure necros can feel emotions?”

The look of pure, unadulterated hatred Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Saint of Wrath, levels at her, is a good argument in favour. She doesn’t retract the jaws; in fact, they get a little tighter, two of the incisors digging into Gideon’s throat enough to draw blood. She draws in a breath; a slight hiss. “Okay, okay, the message is received,” she manages.

Harrow finally drops the teeth.

Her mistake; but then, she’s only eleven; Gideon, a year older, is, for once, the more cunning one; and she leaps forward, daggers in hand, and pins Harrow to the floor. “Now,” she says, “I’m not letting you up until you admit that you miss your parents.”

“I don’t miss  _ anything _ ,” Harrow spits; clawing at her in a vain effort to get free—Gideon’s about twice her weight and over a foot and a half taller, so there’s really no point, but she supposes it’s mostly the principle of the thing.

“Your recent mopiness says otherwise,” Gideon retorts. “Now, do you want to admit that you’re suffering, or do you like having your face smashed into the floor?”

There’s a beat of silence; and then another; and then a deep sigh. “If I admit to it, will you let me up?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine, then. I am...” she pauses for a long moment before, tone scornful and hissing: “I am  _ mourning _ the loss. Now let me up.”

Gideon grins. “See, was that so hard?”

“I hope your bones rot in an unmarked barrel,” Harrow mutters.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] baby teeth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29246274) by [Shmaylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shmaylor/pseuds/Shmaylor)




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